


Not Yet

by Aki (Akiko_Natsuko)



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Memories, Protectiveness, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 22:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18584308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Aki
Summary: Not yet.Not yet. The thought was almost enough to give him pause, the first time he had allowed himself to acknowledge that they might not come out of this mess unscathed. That he might not come through this battle, even though he knew the stories.





	Not Yet

 

    He wasn’t sure when the first rib cracked. Perhaps when the Bull demon bounced him between the walls of the stairway, which had certainly left him aching and bruised, pain radiating through his torso even as he’d sprung back to his feet as though unfazed by the impacts that would have destroyed most humans. He couldn’t falter now. Not because of his family’s treasures lying only feet below him, the last link to the life he’d once thought he could escape, but because of the two people within it. The companions… the friends… that had not only given him purpose after so long alone and adrift but had offered him a tantalising glimpse at something that he’d thought long gone. Something that even now, as he rose to his feet on the bloodied floor, eyes locked on the next demon leaping towards him, he couldn’t quite give a name too.

Who was relying on him to do the only thing he knew how and fight.

    Or perhaps, it was when the next creature sprang at him, kicking him back with enough force to send him to the ground., breath wheezing in his chest and for a moment all he could see and feel was red. However, there was no time for distraction, a cacophony of raucous, inhuman cries echoing through the exposed stairwell as more of them bounded towards him. His knuckles almost white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. _Keep moving Belmont._ It was amazing how much that sounded like the blond bastard downstairs, and it was enough to quirk his lips up into a brief grin as he bounded back to his feet. However, the humour was quick lived. His aching body protesting as he sprang forward to meet the next attack, parrying the blows with the skills once honed in the ruined house above, hand slipping to the whip at his side.

_Keep fighting._

 The next rib went, with an explosion of heat and light that flung him back through the door and into the hold itself, and for a moment the world went white as pain lanced through his side. It took him a few seconds to focus on the relief that the Fire Drake’s blast hadn’t made it into the vault itself, and to shake off the shock of the explosion. Feeling another brief flash of humour as he realised why he had never been allowed to touch that whip as a child, wincing at the thought of how much chaos he had caused, and almost missing the movement in the doorway. Almost. As it was, he was a hair too slow to scoop up the whip in question. Unable to do anything but watch helplessly as it was knocked over the side by the horned creature that immediately lunged at him, and then he was up and moving, a swift twist of his legs snapping its staff in two and leaving him clutching the broken parts of it. Little more than sticks now, but still deadly in a Belmont’s hands.

_“Well done.” Trevor blinked, startled by the praise as he’d been expecting scolding as his father swiped at the blood trickling from the cut, he’d managed to inflict. It wasn’t the fact that he’d wounded him – if you could even call it that, but because he’d been disarmed and in a last moment of desperation before he could be put in a kill ‘position’ he’d snatched up a stick from the ground and lashed out. It had been thorny, biting into his hand, even as it had drawn his father’s blood, but it wasn’t a proper weapon, and he’d been braced for stern words. Instead, he was caught by surprise when a hand tousled his hair in a rare gesture of affection. “Anything can be a weapon if you know how to use it, Trevor, remember that and one day it might save your life.”_

    He was braced to break another, or something more serious when he was swept off the top floor by the feathered demon he’d spied before. Only a desperate twist stopping him from falling, as he clung to its clawed feet, refusing to let go even as it screeched at him, his weight forcing it down onto one of the narrow walkways where he rolled clear. Highly aware that the odds were stacking higher and higher against him and the others, the further they fell into the vault and missing his weapons as he battered the sticks against bone.

      The third one cracked when the bird-like demon tossed him between levels, sending him at full pelt into the end of the bookcase. He felt that one. Faltering for a moment, as fresh pain blossomed in his side, bringing blood to his lips as he bit down to stop himself from shouting out in pain, refusing to distract the others even as his vision wavered for a minute. The coppery taste made him grimace, but it was familiar, reminding him of too many bar fights when he had been alone and outnumbered, and he swirled it against his tongue as he grounded himself in the present before spitting out the blood and staggering back to his feet.

_Not yet._

Not yet. The thought was almost enough to give him pause, the first time he had allowed himself to acknowledge that they might not come out of this mess unscathed. That he might not come through this battle, even though he knew the stories. He had seen the reality of what happened to the Belmont’s who fought against the creatures of the night, remembering peering around his bedroom door as bandages and steaming water was fetched, hearing cries of pain, and pleading in the distance. He saw it in the portraits that lined the stairway, knowing that far too many of them had died young and hard. Being a Belmont did not promise long life and considering what lay ahead of them he knew that his odds were a lot worse than theirs had been.

It didn’t matter.

     Well, that was a lie. It did matter. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave his family to the annals of history, forever tainted by the lies that had led to their destruction. He certainly didn’t want to die here, in the broken ruins of his old home, surrounded by memories that he’d much rather forget. But more importantly, he couldn’t die just yet. Not before they’d faced Dracula. Not before they’d given everything they had to see if the prophecy that he still wasn’t sure he believed in was true, not before he’d had a chance to be a true Belmont for once. Or while Sypha and Alucard who had no real reason to trust in a lost, drunken remnant of an ancient family were still relying on him. Believing that he could and would do his job, while they did theirs.

And not while he still drew breath.

    His breath came in ragged pants, as he forced himself forward, each one accompanied by pain sparking down his side. _I can’t keep this up much longer._  It was a thought swiftly buried, although not for the first time he longed for a stiff drink, as he lashed out again and again. It shouldn’t have been enough, the sticks woefully inadequate for the foe he was fighting, and maybe, just maybe he should start thinking the prophecy carried some weight, as his desperate attacks finally broke through bone and muscle, blood splattering him as the demon eventually fell.

    _Or not,_ he amended, the walkway swaying dangerously as the last of the demons landed in front of him, lips drawn back in a snarl that left him with no way to avoid the sight of its fangs. _Great._ There was a slight tremble in his fingers as he pointed the stick at it, but he stood tall, eyes locked with it’s as it approached, claws digging into the wood. What he hadn’t expected was it for it to bound past him, heading for the lower level and his heart was in his mouth as he spied Sypha’s blue robes. The pain was pushed aside as he swung himself down in pursuit, colliding with the creature just in time and forcing it back into the stacks away from the Speaker. _Hurry,_ he wanted to shout at her even as he heard her running, but he didn’t have the breath to spare right now, the pain in his side now a burning sensation that followed each ragged breath.

_Don’t stop now Belmont._

    He didn’t, even as his vision wavered and the world narrowed to the pain in his side, and the demon as he tried his best to avoid sweeping claws and flashing teeth even as they tumbled lower and lower. A bite of his lip jerked him out of the grey haze threatening to swamp his mind as he realised how low they were getting, aware of the flickers of lightning in the corner of his eye and the now familiar tingle of Sypha’s magic against his skin. _No closer._ As though to mock him, he found himself being launched backwards, crashing through several rows of shelves and sending the valuable texts crashing to the ground. He didn’t have time to worry about the damage, because the demon was moving, its attention riveted on the others, and the pained noise that bubbled up as he forced himself to his feet once more became a growl as he dashed forward.

_I won’t let you…_

    His whip lay where it had fallen, and he scooped it up, side aflame from the movement, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Because Sypha was ignoring the danger, focused on the magic dancing between her and the mirror and Alucard was moving to protect her, alarm in the golden eyes, and with gritted teeth, he swung. The Morningstar whip didn’t share his hesitation, didn’t falter even as his vision whited out again for a second, only the hear that filled the air a second later, as its radiance lay waste to the final demon reassuring him his aim had been true.

    The relief was overwhelming and almost enough to send him crashing to his knees. _Almost._ But he couldn’t stop now, he couldn’t fall here, and before Alucard with those too-sharp eyes could realise how much damage he’d taken, he turned away. Each step brought a fresh, throbbing pain in his side, and it formed a rhythm as he headed back up towards the stairway. Each step accompanied by a ragged breath, and a grim repetition of _not yet…not yet…_ in the back of his mind, because he knew that this was only step one, and even as his body cried out _no more,_ he moved forward, lips pressed in a thin line because he couldn’t stop.

   He would paste a grin on his face, offer a prayer to a God he didn’t believe in and hope that the prophecy had some truth in it and that his body would hold out long enough for the fight to come.

_Please…not yet._


End file.
